“Fuck,” Arly exclaimed under her breath, glaring at her reflection in the oval mirror above the bathroom sink. Mascara wand poised in front of her face, she examined the smudge of dark goop streaked across her eyelid, placed there only seconds before when her hand had slipped mid-swipe. Shoving the wand back into the pink and green Great Lash tube, Arly reached for the dish of padded make-up removers on the tile counter surrounding the sink basin.

She had no clue what her deal was that day. Normally, she was a whiz when it came to anything female – leave it to Arly to have a horrible morning on the one day it counted. Lucky her; she had an appointment across campus in half an hour with her academic advisor, and as she took in the full sight of herself in the mirror, dobbing her eye with the damp remover, Arly couldn’t have been more unprepared. Her hair wound tight atop her head in one of those silly towel snails, standing in her dorm bathroom in her bra and underwear: the picture of success? Not exactly. “Fuck!” She muttered again, louder this time although for no particular reason.

Sometimes, being a girl could be rough. And as Arly padded out of the small room in her bare feet, crossing her currently unshared quad to where her corner closet was open to reveal a menagerie of clothing disarray, Arly honestly felt that she could be anywhere than there. Pawing through the mess of Diesel jeans, Elie Tahari blouses and fashion-forward retro dresses, Arly yanked the towel off her head, her mane of wheat-blonde locks falling in a wet mass over her shoulders. Brushing the cold, damp waves away from her face, she pried her taupe suede Michael Kors wedges out from beneath a pile of discarded cashmere cardigans.

Ten minutes later, her face free of makeup and her hair still damp from the shower, Arly shut the door to her dorm room in Madison, tossing her chestnut leather satchel over her arm. Amazingly enough, as she swiped a light coat of gloss across her lips, the outcome of her mad rush to get ready was better than she’d expected it to be – waking up forty-five minutes past the alarm didn’t leave much room to be optimistic. The cool autumn breeze sent small tingles through the thin material of her geometric mesh kimono blouse, the intricately patterned pashmina looped around her neck serving its purpose as a fashion accessory and not a source of warmth against the dropping temperature. Crossing briskly across the academy courtyard, she briefly took in the sight of the surrounding stately buildings and colorfully changing foliage. Arly had always loved fall, second to summer bikini weather of course.

She’d had a few things to do before she was going to head over to the advisor’s office, but that got blown out of the water the instant Arly read the numbers 8:15 AM on her iPod alarm/radio/docking station. Without the time to even get her mascara right, here she was, trying to dodge early fall puddles and piles of soggy leaves in $300 four-inch wedge heels. And not even time to stop for a coffee. Arly forced herself to focus: advising first, caffeine later.

As if that actually helped.

Arly didn’t even like her academic advisor.
Sandrina Hurwitz was a bitter, temperamental old hag that was rumored to have seventeen cats smuggled into her staff apartment; which was believable – the woman seriously needed to get laid or something. Last time they’d met, one week earlier when America Town Academy had extended its routine ‘friendly’ welcome and primary evaluation meetings to the students, Hurwitz had nearly overwhelmed Arly with the scent of cheap department store floral perfume that seemed to follow the advisor where ever she went. That, and a lingering odor that smelled like a cross between litter box and feet.
But Arly wasn’t making judgments or anything. Of course not.

A cold breeze had picked up, sending leaves that covered the ground spiraling across the pavement, settling on the lush, late summer grass on either side. Feeling the cold even more because of the mop of damp waves that fell over her shoulders, Arly gritted her teeth and forged ahead, intent to arrive at the godforsaken interview on time. She’d gone through this much trouble already. Get in, listen to Hurwitz complain about her divorce to Mr. Hurwitz for fifteen minutes, maybe sneak in a few words about her academic plan at the Academy, get out and spend the rest of her day doing something slightly more productive. Like watch paint dry, or grass grow, or the chemistry geeks perform laser surgery on the lab frogs – whatever. Arly could no longer care less about whether she was the world’s next Hilary Clinton or Billy-Joan Hillbottom from the Jersey Trailer Park. Okay, so maybe she cared a little. But she didn’t need some beady-eyed, big-nosed, cat-crazed student advisor to tell her that.

The minute she’d realized she’d forgotten to check her voice mail that morning, Arly could have smacked herself. She’d been waiting to hear from several people from New Jersey who she might be meeting up with that weekend when they drove up settle in at Brown in Providence – anything to get her off campus before the professors really cracked down in the coming weeks and classes took over her life. Shifting the weight of her calfskin Cole Haan bag, she parted the straps and set to rummaging through its contents, her legs moving briskly beneath her. It was ridiculous, the amount of stuff she had in there. Her deep green eyes glancing upwards every so often, soon the second urge to smack herself came over Arly as she discovered that in her haste, she’d committed a teenage girl’s cardinal sin: she’d left her phone in the dorm. Instead, she lifted out her folder notebook that contained several evaluation pages and other documents she may need at her meeting.

Arly had just returned her satchel to its place over her arm, propping the folder against her chest, when something struck her right side – hard. Taken by surprise, Arly felt the notebook slip from her grasp, the contents raining onto the paved walkway below in a mass of fluttering sheets. “Watch it!” She snapped, before she could stop herself. Arly hastily leaned over to collect her book and papers, grabbing for those nearest to her. Straightening, she rose to face the girl who she’d collided with, a rattled and slightly annoyed expression crossing her face. After a moment, however, when she realized how her previous statement must have sounded, Arly regained her composure, and replaced her accusing stare with one of sympathy. “Oh God, sorry.” Arly breathed, and rolled her eyes as an apologetic smile crossed her pink lips, and she tossed her blonde locks over one shoulder. She hadn’t exactly been looking where she was going either; usually she got away with it, but it figures, so far the day had more than proven that things were not in her favor. Taking in the sight of the girl she’d walked into, Arly realized she hadn’t really seen her around campus before, which she thought was surprising, seeing as she knew practically everyone.

“It’s just, I’m kind of running late, and this morning has been absolute hell.” Offering another exasperated half-smile, she inhaled a steadying breath. Arly had always done that – feeling the need to explain herself without a thought to whether the other person actually wanted to hear it or not. It was a trait of hers; Arly often spoke to everyone as though they had been friends for years, when in all truth they could have met thirty seconds ago, like in the case of this girl. Making a mental note that she still had somewhere to be, Arly shrugged. “I’m Arly,” She added, figuring that an introduction was the least that she could do.